


Self Checkout

by luckie_dee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: Soulmate AU inspired bythis postfromshitty-check-please-aus:soulmate au where you can only meet your soulmate when you’re both in the store buying something mildly embarrassing.





	Self Checkout

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : A little swearing. Mentions of mental health issues, past pimms, and... cat diarrhea. Unbetaed.
> 
>  **Author's Note** : So, [Laura](http://foryouandbits.tumblr.com/) filled this for zimbits ([here](http://foryouandbits.tumblr.com/post/164423202570/au-suggestion)!) and she asked me, “How would this even work for patater? There's nothing Kent would be embarrassed to buy.” Challenge accepted.

It happens, as so many things do, at Target.

Normally, Kent orders things for Kit online or buys them at a pet supply store, but this is an emergency. Kit’s got the runs because she’s on antibiotics for a respiratory infection, which means that Kent needs sanitary wipes and he needs them _now_. The pet supply store closed two hours ago, Amazon can’t promise him delivery any earlier than tomorrow, and Kent certainly isn’t going to come at his princess with some wadded up paper towels — which leaves Target as his next best option. Kit’s coat is long and luxurious, and currently, it’s the worst kind of dirty.

When Kent arrives in the pet section, he finds a sign where the wipes should be directing him to Lovers’ Lane. He rolls his eyes — not for the first time — at Target’s cutesy name for what should just be called the Aisle of Embarrassing Shit. There’s no reason for pet wipes to be there anyway; no one should be embarrassed about being a responsible pet owner.

No one should be embarrassed to buy _any_ of the stuff that Kent knows he’ll find there, no matter what it’s called. Who cares if he needs condoms or tampons or a vibrator... not that the last one’s available at Target anyway. Maybe — _maybe_ — there’s cause for some weird feelings about buying adult human sanitary wipes. It makes a weird announcement, Kent muses as he makes his way through the store, like: _hey man, toilet paper’s just not enough to handle it when I drop a deuce_. Even then, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.

Embarrassment or no, Kent still approaches _Lover’s Lane_ (he gives the name as much scorn as he can inside his own head) with his snapback pulled low. It’s about time management more than anything else; Las Vegas isn’t enough of a sports town that he gets recognized constantly, but it does happen, and it’s generally something Kent enjoys. Today, though, he just wants to get home to Kit. He hates that he had to leave her alone in the first place when she’s not feeling well.

Lover’s Lane is less an aisle and more a broad section at the center of the store with fainting couches and beanbag chairs scattered throughout. Most of the shoppers there are younger than Kent. He walks quickly past teens, shuffling and exchanging glances out of the corners of their eyes, clutching boxes of douche and hemorrhoid cream in their sweaty hands. He steps quickly around the people who really need what they’ve come to buy, but who are dawdling to the point of ridiculousness.

Kent has been all of them before. He used to be a lot of things.

Fifteen, holding a box of Ex-Lax at Walgreen’s after telling his mother he was going to the library and getting on a bus. Seventeen, wondering why he met Jack Zimmermann on the ice and not in a store (and _that_ had become clear enough in time). Twenty-five, buying lube, unashamed and knowing exactly what that meant: you can’t meet your soulmate in a fit of embarrassment if you’re not embarrassed.

Now he’s twenty-eight, cynical, and trying to find ass wipes for his cat.

It doesn’t take long. He angles around the entwined legs of a starry-eyed new couple who are recovering on a beanbag chair, grabs a package off the shelf, and heads back toward the front of the store with purpose. The only thing that breaks his stride is an endcap display in the book section. He glances at it, falters, takes a few determined steps past — but then turns back to stand in front of it, feeling his mouth go tight as he looks at the cover.

The book is a compendium of sorts: several well-known figures have shared their experiences dealing with mental illness, and it’s all compiled by and interspersed with advice from the celebrity psychologist _du jour_. Jack’s face smiles up at Kent from the cover, just a tiny headshot in a grid of the most famous contributors. Kent had known this was coming, but it’s still messing him up a little to actually see it. He barely recognizes Jack Zimmermann as _Zimms_ , who ten years ago had worked harder than anything to keep both his sexuality and his anxiety under wraps. Now he’s wide out in the open about both.

Kent takes a furtive glance up and down the aisle, ducks his head, and picks up a copy of the book. His therapist would call it trendy, he thinks, and they’d have a long discussion about whether it was actually a good idea for him to read it. Kent thinks probably not, but his therapist isn’t here and she doesn’t have to know if he runs it through the self-checkout. He could go home and order it online, of course, but he’s already holding the stupid thing and —

Someone smacks into Kent’s shoulder, so hard that he’s knocked off balance. He’s already on edge, and he looks up — farther than he originally thought he’d have to, because he’s greeted by pecs and collarbones — with a sharp, “Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry!” his assailant is already saying in a heavily-accented voice, grabbing Kent’s elbow to steady him, then quickly releasing it. “Did not want to run over…”

He motions at two kids, who are tearing out of the aisle with coloring books clutched in their hands. A harried-looking woman follows with a cart, only interrupting her scolding to shoot Kent and the guy a distracted _sorry about that_.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kent mutters. He’s annoyed, but he’s not about to cause a scene. Besides, the guy seems contrite enough. When Kent glances over at him again, he can’t help but notice how tall and sinewy the guy is, his thin t-shirt and well-fitted jeans providing tantalizing hints at the musculature underneath. He’s got warm eyes and a distinctive nose and he’s blushing a little, and maybe Kent can understand the whole being-embarrassed-to-buy-things concept better now.

Because when he looks back down, he’s got cat ass wipes in one hand and a self-help book in the other. He’s definitely more embarrassed about one of those two things, and not the one most people would assume. As for the wipes, responsible pet ownership notwithstanding, it’s not like he wants a definitely-attractive guy to look at him and think of cat diarrhea.

It’s right about then that Kent notices the black spots gathering at the edges of his vision. “You’ve gotta be shitting me,” he groans.

So this is it. It’s happening. Or Kent is just having a major health crisis in the middle of Target. But if it’s what Kent _thinks_ it is, that means this dude would have to be holding something embarrassing too. He sneaks a peek, sees a book clutched in the guy’s hands. Kent gets one glimpse of a ripped bodice before the guy is whisking it behind his back. “Is not for me,” he says quickly, and then —

The next thing Kent knows he’s on the ground.

There’s a store employee hovering over Kent when he regains his senses — his nametag says he’s an assistant manager — and a small cluster of people nearby. The manager helps him sit up, talking low and rapid-fire the entire time. “I’m _so_ sorry, Mr. Parson. These things usually don’t happen in this part of the store. We’ve got a couch by the romance section just in case, but not here. Please accept our apologies…”

Kent waves him off as soon as he’s partially upright. “I’m fine,” he grunts. Probably going to bruise in a few places, but it’s certainly no worse than playing a hockey game, and he doesn’t think he hit his head on anything. Kent nods at the few people huddled at the mouth of the next aisle. “A little privacy?” he asks quietly.

“Of course,” the manager says. He jumps to his feet and ushers the group away. Kent can already see one or two of them going for their phones. Fantastic. So much for keeping this private.

He turns warily to watch another employee attend to the guy — his soulmate, Kent supposes. He doesn’t look any worse for the wear; in fact, he’s smiling politely as he assures the tiny, teenage girl hovering near his shoulder that he’s not hurt. _Fuck_ , Kent thinks. It’s the only thing in his head. _Fuck_.

The manager returns, and Kent repeats his request for privacy to get him to back off. He does, taking the girl with him. They stay close, but Kent doesn’t complain about it because they’re shooing away any passersby who try to see what’s going on.

When Kent looks over again, the guy is looking right back, wearing a sheepish smile. “Hi,” he says. “I am Alexei.”

And Kent… balks. He has no idea how to respond, now that the thing that he’s most hoped for and most feared for years is actually unfolding. He knows that he doesn’t owe this guy anything; just because fate had chosen him for Kent doesn’t mean that Kent has to just blindly go along with it. It’s a small percentage of the population, but Kent _knows_ there are people out there who meet their soulmates and don’t enter into a romantic relationship, or they break up, or mutually decide to just go their separate ways. There are special interest stories on TV, articles in newspapers and magazines.

Kent’s first instinct is to become one of those people, to stand up, to leave this guy — Alexei — sitting on the floor and never look back.

But he doesn’t think he’s _that_ cruel.

“I’m Kent,” he finally says, cautious, after too long a pause.

“Parson, I know,” Alexei replies.

 _Great_.

Something of Kent’s displeasure at being recognized must show in his expression, because Alexei’s face falls and he hurries to say, “No, don’t worry! I am not fan.”

Kent squints at him and cocks an eyebrow.

“ _No_!” Alexei repeats with more force. “Only mean I am fan of other team. I just move from Providence.”

So… fate is just straight up fucking with him. Kent lets out a brief chuckle and scrubs a hand over his face. “I guess that means you like the Falcs, huh?”

It makes Alexei fucking _beam_. Even in his distress, Kent has to admit it’s a good look on him. “Yes!” Alexei enthuses. “I am personal trainer. Owner of gym I work at is trainer for Falcs backup goalie. We are all Falcs fans there. So I’m not follow Aces, but see you play. You are sneaky player, but good.”

And Kent — laughs. For real this time. He’s not sure it’s a flattering assessment, but it’s better than having the guy blow smoke up his ass. “Well,” he says, “at least you’re honest. About hockey, anyway.”

Alexei’s brow furrows. “What you mean?”

Kent nods at the romance novel, which is tucked half under Alexei’s thigh. “You’re telling me that book’s really not for you, huh?”

“Oh.” Alexei looks down and nudges it further out of sight as his color heightens. “Is — is not for me. My sister is here in United States and she is reading books to help learn English. This kind is her favorite.”

“Huh,” Kent says, disbelieving. “You’re a good brother.”

Alexei nods and hums, still not quite meeting Kent’s eye. The silence is broken when a customer rushes by, clearly on a mission, wielding her cart like a weapon and coming within inches of running it right over Kent’s hand. Both Kent and Alexei jump, and Kent belatedly realizes that they’re still sitting on the grimy linoleum floor in Target. “Maybe we should —”

“Yes,” Alexei agrees, already climbing to his feet.

Kent collects his pet wipes and stands, then shoves the self-help book back on the shelf. “You are not going to buy?” Alexei asks.

“Nah, not today.”

They head toward the front of the store. Kent can’t help but glance and the book in Alexei’s hand again, and he asks, oh-so-casual, “So, if you’re not reading that series, you won’t care if I tell you that Brynn dies, right?”

Alexei actually stops in his tracks and turns to Kent in horror. “She _dies_?”

Kent grins. “Nope,” he says, popping the _p_.

“Sneaky, Kent Parson, just like I say,” Alexei grumbles, starting to walk again. They’re quiet for a moment, then he adds, “I really do buy for my sister. But I read first.”

“Hey, man, no judgment here,” Kent says with a shrug. “If you like those, you should try her Hot Doctor series.”

“Maybe.”

They move quickly through the self-checkout lanes and meet again in front of the exit. It’s so _awkward_ ; Kent wonders if anyone else finds it this awkward. All the stories say that this is the part where the happy new couple whisks away on a fantasy date, finds the perfect place to share their first kiss, starts planning the rest of their lives. He’s pretty sure that Zimms and his now-husband hadn’t left each other’s sides for a week after their run-in. Kent doesn’t feel like he wants to do that. He _can’t_ , because Kit’s waiting for him at home. He holds up the wipes, having foregone a bag since he was only buying the one thing. “So, uh — my cat’s sick, and I’ve got to get home, but maybe —” he sucks in a deep breath, releases it “— maybe I can get your number?”

Alexei looks a little disappointed, but he smiles. “Of course. I not mind sick cat if —”

“No,” Kent interjects. On top of his desire for some space and time to process everything, there’s no telling how much cat shit is smeared around his place right now. “I mean, it’s probably better if this isn’t your first impression of Kit.”

“Kit,” Alexei repeats. “Is boy or girl?”

“She’s a goddess.”

Alexei laughs and pulls out his phone to enter Kent as a contact. Kent feels his own phone buzz in his pocket a second later. “Okay, well, I hope I am meet Kit the goddess cat very soon and that she will feel better.”

“I’ll tell her you said so.”

“Good.”

They look at each other for a moment, and Kent waits, sure that Alexei’s going to do something wrong, something that will give Kent reason to delete his number and forget any of this ever happened. He’s definitely not ready for Alexei to hug him — much less kiss him — and a handshake, given the circumstances, just seems strange.

Alexei does none of those things. Instead, he smiles and extends a hand to give Kent’s shoulder the briefest squeeze, like he’s checking to see that Kent is there. “You let me know if she is better, _da_?”

“I’ll call you,” Kent says, surprised to find that he means it.

They part, and Kent drives home with his head and heart reeling. When he does finally look at his phone, the text reads _is good to finally meet you_.

Kent replies: _you too_. He might not be prepared to commit his life to this guy, but he’s willing to give him a chance. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Link to tumblr post [here!](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/164903378692/self-checkout-patater-fic) Feel free to stop by and say hi :)


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